Second Chances
by laynee
Summary: Dick Grayson ends up over his head at the end of a stakeout, he's out of options and calls on the one place that he knows will help him-even if it means letting go of some pride. hurt/sick grayson, distantly caring bruce, faithful alfred -some language
1. Asking

I don't own Nightwing, Batman or any other characters. There's no point suing me because I'm a college student over my head in student loans. This is my first Nightwing fanfic…so sorry if it isn't up to the standards that the brilliant people at DC have created.

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Dick Grayson stayed back in the shadows of the air conditioners on the building's roof. The mist that had hung low all day turned to steady rain. An icy rivulet traced its way down his back and he repressed a chill. He brushed his wet hair back from his face and focused his attention to the men on the street below.

Two men were waiting apparently for the third who pulled up in a car. The two men walked to the driver's side of the car and leaned in close to the window. The wind and rain foiled any attempts as Dick tried to listen in on the conversation.

The shadowed figure in the car pointed towards the roof Dick was on. The two men looked up as he stepped further back into a shadow.

Dick heard the unmistakable sound of a gun cocking behind him and turned.

Joseph Fyllen, one of Bludhaven's finest criminals, stood a few feet back from Dick. "Look what I caught."

Dick set his jaw and smirked. "I could say the same thing."

"Nightwing." He hissed.

Joseph had once made an honest living as an escape artist in a magic act with his brother. Daniel Fyllen was an innocent bystander in a drive by a few years back. His older brother, Joseph, swore revenge on all of Bludhaven. He'd take down good cops, bad cops, anyone and everyone in an attempt to avenge his brother. He and Dick had a few run ins over the past year, each secretly admired the others work. Fallen could blend in and out of shadows as silently as Bruce, he could slip handcuffs and jail cells faster than a blink.

"It doesn't have to end like this, Joseph."

Joseph's eyes hardened. "Time to save yourself."

Dick was ready for the gun Joseph pulled. In a few minutes of hand to hand combat, each had handed out and received several good punches. The icy rain fell harder and the wind picked up.

Dick pinned Joseph to the rooftop. "I could handcuff you to one of these pipes, but we both know that would be a waste of time, not to mention that I'd be out a pair of cuffs." Dick pressed Joseph's face into the rough tar. "My quarrel is not with you tonight."

Dick swung and knocked Joseph out. He stood and felt the places that would be bruises in the morning.

A shot rang out and something white hot took hold of Dick's left shoulder. He fell to his knees and saw the blood, darker than his blue and black suit, bloom around the ragged hole. His breath was short and painful and spots danced in his vision. He raised his head and saw one of the men from the street blow on the opposite roof.

"Shit." He muttered.

Dick pulled out a small gun, he aimed carefully and fired. A rope shot out and wrapped itself around the man. Dick pushed himself to his feet. Everything spun around him for a moment as he staggered to catch his balance. He ran for the edge of the building, swung over and landed on the street a few minutes later. His shoulder throbbed with the quickened pace of his heart and he could feel the blood run warm down his chest.

His apartment was dark and cool when he finally arrived home. He stripped off his wet uniform, pulled the mask from his face and went into the bathroom. The light blinded him for a moment and he gripped the counter to keep from falling. His reflection looked back at him pale, bruised and shaking. With his right hand he gently touched the bullet wound and winced as the pain sharpened. He swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat.

He rummaged through the drawers until he found a stack of gauze and some tape. He quickly bandaged his shoulder and winced as the pain ratcheted up as the taped it down. He was dizzy and knew it wasn't good.

Dick walked into his room and pulled on a pair of jeans and a gray sweatshirt. His hair dripped down his face and he wiped the water away with his sleeve. He stepped into his tennis shoes and hung his Nightwing in the closet to dry. The moving nearly made him pass out a few times and he needed to lean on the wall for support.

He grabbed his cell phone off the table and left the apartment. The drop of the elevator messed with his already delicate equilibrium and he braced himself against the wall. He got out at the ground floor and nodded to the guard at the door.

"Rain picked up. Do you want me to call you a cab, Mr. Grayson?"

Dick hoped his smile didn't reveal the pain he was in. "No. Thank you, Tom."

He stepped out onto the sidewalk and was immediately greeted with the storm. Even if he hadn't loaned his car to Roy for the weekend, he still wouldn't have trusted himself to drive in his current condition.

The clinic was four blocks down. He wasn't thinking straight. If he was, he would have let Tom call a cab and he wouldn't be walking in the torrent of rain and wind. He felt cold seep through his arms and legs. His head swam and he just wanted to sleep. He paused in a bus stop shelter and pulled the cell phone from his pocket.

He searched through the numbers before he decided on one. It was his pride that kept him from pressing the call button and the blood that started to run down his chest again that made him press it.

He counted the rings on the other end and prayed to whoever was up there that someone would answer.

His sigh of relief was more a gasp of pain. "It's Dick. Could you come and get me? I got a little banged up and Roy has my car."

He coughed and tasted blood. Darkness rimmed his vision and he fought to stay awake. "The bus stop at Seventh and Anderson." He closed the phone and leaned against the corner of the bus shelter. He shivered from the damp sweatshirt and blood loss. His only thought was to stay awake.

Alfred wasn't expecting the call from Dick. Since the young man had left nearly two years previous, there hadn't been many unplanned calls. Dick called about once every two weeks or so, the ties to his only family remained strong despite the conflicts that had occurred. From Dick's voice, Alfred could tell that the young man was exhausted.

Bruce was out on a job so Alfred scribbled down a note on his way out. Alfred hoped that exhausted was the only problem that Dick had.

Alfred sped down the rain-flooded streets. Years spent with Bruce and Dick had trained him in knowing how to read between the lines when one of them said they were 'a little banged up'. He saw a dark silhouette sitting under the yellow lights of the bus shelter. The figure was slumped against the walls as though they were needed to keep vertical.

Alfred slowed and stopped the car in front of the bus shelter. He climbed out of the car and walked up to Dick.

Dick wearily raised his eyes to Alfred's. A faint, pain filled smile spread across the young man's pale face.

"Master Richard, what have you gotten yourself into now?"

"Just a scratch." Dick muttered and pushed himself to his feet.

Alfred caught him as he almost fell. "Where were you going in this weather?"

He loaded Dick into the backseat of the car and turned up the heat.

"Clinic."

Alfred's eyes glanced up at the rear-view-mirror. "Would you like to go there first or take your chances at the manor?"


	2. Surrender

I don't own Nightwing, Batman or any other characters. There's no point suing me because I'm a college student over my head in student loans. This is my first Nightwing fanfic…so sorry if it isn't up to the standards that the brilliant people at DC have created.

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"You know my policy on hospitals." Dick gasped and held his right hand over his shoulder.

"And yet you were on your way to one." Alfred turned the car towards home.

"Momentary lapse in judgment." He shrugged and regretted the movement.

Alfred saw him wince and he added it to the list that added up to how injured Dick really was. "Where are you injured sir?"

Dick had his eyes closed. The movement of the car added to his nausea from the pain. "Shoulder."

"How were you injured?"

"Bullet." He coughed again and the taste of blood was stronger. Getting a breath was becoming more difficult. Maybe he should have said clinic.

"Master Bruce is out, but he should be returning within an hour or so."

Dick relaxed into the seat and rested his aching head against the cool window. "He doesn't need to know about this."

"I expect it will be nearly impossible to keep it from him."

"Yeah, probably." Dick sighed.

Alfred pulled up to the house and helped Dick out of the car. He was more unsteady on his feet and the ground seemed to shift as he walked. Alfred could feel him shake and knew that Dick must have been in quite a bit of pain.

"Do you want to be brought to your old room, or do you wish to occupy the guest room?"

"Either." He whispered through his shallow breaths.

Alfred eased Dick onto the pillows on the bed in his old room. Nothing much had changed, but then again, it wasn't as though the space was needed. Dick wanted to roll to his side and curl himself around the pain, but the movement seemed impossible.

"I am going to call doctor Thompkins, and I will return shortly." Alfred hurried from the room.

Dick could have cared less what was going on, just as long as he didn't have to move. He felt the blood pooling under the bandage and figured it must have soaked through already. He shifted and felt the pain flair across his chest. He heard Alfred's footsteps return to the room.

He opened his eyes a little. "Sorry about all this."

"Master Richard, your presence is always welcome here. This is your home."

"Some might not be so eager to say that." He muttered.

"If you feel so inclined to remove the wet sweatshirt, I have a dry shirt for you."

Dick carefully pushed himself up and pulled his uninjured arm out. He took controlled breaths to try and keep the pain at a manageable level. Even so, he was shaking and sweat soaked by the time Alfred had peeled the sweatshirt from him. The bandage had soaked through and blood slowly and persistently ran from under the tape. Dick leaned back against the pillows without bothering with the shirt Alfred had brought.

"I believe your exact words were 'a little banged up'." Alfred's sarcasm was dry with irony.

Dick shrugged with his uninjured shoulder and glanced down at his already bruising chest.

Doctor Leslie Thompkins appeared in the door, her medical bag in one hand. "Alfred said you were in need of some help."

Dick looked over and nodded slightly. Leslie pulled on gloves as she walked over.

"What happened, Dick?"

He smirked and winced. "Work related injury."

She looked up at his face for a moment and carefully pulled the gauze from his chest. His breath caught in his lungs and his already pale face lost more color.

"Alfred, could I get-" She turned and saw that Alfred was holding clean towels, and a basin of hot water. "Thank you."

She gently cleaned the blood away from the wound and pressed a thick pack of gauze to control the bleeding. She filled a syringe with morphine from a vial and injected it into Dick's arm.

"That bad?" He asked, his breath light.

Leslie nodded slightly. "The bullet's still in your chest. This would have been the type of thing a that visit to the clinic would have been a wise choice, but I know you too well."

She lifted the gauze and injected a local anesthetic.

A door slammed shut somewhere else in the house. Alfred met Dick's eyes for a moment. "Master Bruce appears to be home."

"Not yet, please." Dick whispered.

"I'll stall him for as long as I can." Alfred left the room.

Leslie took a tweezers and scalpel from her bag. "This is going to hurt."

"Already does." Dick's eyes slipped closed.

She carefully dug for the bullet and found it near a cracked rib. Dick's breaths were shallow and quick. He shook from the pain and his fists were clenched at his sides.

"Are you doing all right?"

He nodded slightly. "Kind of hard to breathe."

"You have a broken rib and I think your lung is bruised, if not punctured. You really should have seen a hospital."

"I was on my way, but couldn't make it." His breath was sharp and short between each word.

"The bullet just missed your heart. Centimeters away." She pulled out the bullet and dropped it on the bedside table.

Leslie quickly stitched up the bullet wound. She knew he was in pain and she knew that the pain wasn't helping to ease his breathing. "Almost done, try and relax."

"Can I pass out yet?" He gasped.

She taped a square of gauze down over the wound and prepared another dose of morphine. She injected it into his arm. "This will knock you out pretty efficiently."

She stood and moved a trash can near the side of the bed. She left the room and returned with a cool, damp cloth. She placed it next to him on the table. "Get some rest."

Alfred came to the doorway. "How is he doing?"

"His lung might be punctured, we'll have to watch him closely. He has at least one broken rib as well. He's lost a fair amount of blood. Try to convince him to go to the hospital, at least for an x-ray. Right now his pretty calm with morphine."

"I've set up the guest room for you, if you so choose."

She smiled. "Thank you. I'll probably stay a few hours to make sure that he'll be all right."

Leslie stepped into the hall and saw Bruce. He leaned against a wall, his face stony and neutral.

"Good evening."

"Good evening, Leslie."

She passed him in the hall. Bruce walked to Dick's bedroom door and leaned against the doorframe.

"You were a little unclear on the details of what happened, Alfred."

Alfred turned from Dick's bedside and stood. "Master Richard was injured and called me for help. He didn't want you to worry."

Bruce looked over at Dick and saw that the young man was awake. Bruce saw how Dick's hands shook and how pale he was, offset by the deep bruising. He noticed the few spots of blood on the young man's jeans.

"Hey." Dick breathed.

Bruce walked into the room and sat in a chair that Alfred moved for that exact purpose.

Dick tried to sit up on one elbow. Bruce rested his hand on Dick's uninjured shoulder and gently held him down.

"How are you feeling?"

"Been better." He slurred a little.

The tension in the room was thick and heavy. Lying on the bed, injured, was not how Dick pictured the meeting.

"What happened?" Bruce's tone wasn't as harsh as it was a moment ago.

"Fyllon snuck up behind me as I was watching a transaction on the street below." He hardly spoke above a whisper and the end of one word blurred into the beginning of another. "Got shot by someone else."

Dick's eyes drifted closed as the morphine took hold. Bruce shifted in the chair and Dick forced his eyes open.

"Rest."

"I don't want you to be mad at me." He breathed.

"Why would I be?"

"Said some things before."

Bruce rested his hand on Dick's arm, the closest thing either of them had to a hug. "None of that matters. I'm glad you came here."

Dick looked up into Bruce's eyes and saw enough truth there to relax and drift off into drug guided sleep.


	3. Facade

I don't own Nightwing, Batman or any other characters. There's no point suing me because I'm a college student over my head in student loans. This is my first Nightwing fanfic…so sorry if it isn't up to the standards that the brilliant people at DC have created.

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Bruce sat at his side through the evening. Leslie came in every forty minutes to check on him, there was little change. She kept him calm and in minimal pain with regular doses of morphine.

Dick's dreams were warped by drugs and pain. He was back with his parents at the circus, he swung out to meet his father, who looked just like Bruce, who changed to Joseph Fyllen. Joseph smiled and dropped him. Dick fell to the ground, but never hit, he just fell forever. A blinding pain pierced his shoulder and spread through his body.

A little after three in the morning, Dick suddenly woke. He didn't know what woke him or even where he was. His heart pounded double time at his temples and his shoulder.

Bruce rested a hand on Dick's chest to hold him still. "Calm down or you'll rip out your stitches. You're all right."

Sweat soaked Dick's hair and Bruce could feel the heat under his palm. Dick groaned and held a hand to his stomach. Bruce held a glass of water to Dick's lips and helped him drink. Dick sunk into the pillows and tried to find a comfortable position. His bruised body ached with the start of a fever, his shoulder and head throbbed painfully and his stomach was upset from the morphine.

"Do you need anything?" Bruce brushed the young man's hair back.

"No." He breathed and drifted back to sleep.

Leslie came into the room. "How's he doing?"

"He had some water." Bruce looked back at her. "Seems a little warm."

She took Dick's temperature and saw that it was a few degrees above normal. "It might just be from him trying to heal, but I'll keep an eye on things."

She checked the bandage and Dick's blood pressure. She rested her stethoscope on his chest and listened to his labored breaths. Everything was stable, not good, but stable. Dick shifted under the touch. The pain he was in was evident on his face as he slept.

Leslie turned to Bruce. "If you need a few moments, grab a cup of coffee or something, I'll stay with him."

"Thank you." Bruce stood and left the room.

Dick surfaced from sleep and sighed. Leslie gently wiped his face with the damp cloth. "How do you feel?"

"Sick." He muttered.

"Do you want some more water?"

He shook his head a little. He coughed, rolled to his side and vomited over the side of the bed into the well placed trash can. Leslie held him so that he wouldn't strain his injury. After a few moments he rolled onto his back again. He rested his arm over his eyes and brought one knee up.

Leslie held his head and the water to his lips. He took a few tentative sips and she placed the glass on the table again.

"How much pain are you in?"

He shrugged a little. "Don't know."

Bruce came back into the room and sat at Dick's bedside.

Dick smiled a little. "Hey."

Leslie rested her hand on Bruce's shoulder. "He's still pretty drugged."

Bruce nodded and smiled slightly. "I'll keep an eye on him."

Dick coughed and held his left arm close to his chest to try and ease the pain. He struggled to catch his breath without stressing his broken ribs.

"'Spose you're wondering why I came here." Dick muttered with his eyes closed. "Know it crossed your mind."

Bruce didn't say anything.

"Didn't know where else to go, just wanted to come home." Dick slipped back into sleep.

Bruce wasn't sure how much of what Dick said was true and how much was influenced by the morphine and fever. Either way, there was at least some truth to the words. They both knew that a few words wouldn't fix things between them, neither Bruce nor Dick were very good at letting the past go, but perhaps it was a start.

When Dick woke again, it was Alfred at his side. His mind was slightly clearer, but the pain was sharper. His head swam and he felt too warm despite the fact that he was only in his jeans with a sheet over him. Before he was awake too long, Alfred held the glass of water to his lips.

"How are you feeling?"

Dick shrugged and pushed the sheet away. Alfred checked the young man's temperature. Dick saw Alfred's brow furrow slightly at the result.

"Bad news?" He whispered, his breath still tight in his lungs.

"It's a little higher than we'd like it to be."

Dick shifted on the pillows some in an attempt to ease his aching body. "How high?"

"103.5. Leslie went to find you some medication, unless I can convince you to go to the hospital."

"I'm all right." Dick sighed. "Was Bruce here?"

"He was at your side most of the night."

Dick winced as the pain sharpened. "I don't remember much."

Leslie returned to the room. She set her medical bag on the end of the bed and took a bag of intravenous medication out. She hung it on the bedpost above Dick's head.

"This will help with the infection and keep you hydrated." She inserted the line into the back of his hand and taped it down. "How's the pain?"

"A little sharper, but it's all right."

She started to prepare another dose of morphine.

"Please, I don't want it. I don't like being confused and clouded. It's fine."

"Dick, your body is currently under a lot of stress. The pain will only make everything worse. You need to rest."

His head swam and he struggled to keep his eyes focused on Leslie. "Please."

"I will give you a lower dose, but if you are unable to rest from the pain, then I will return to the previous dose."

Dick agreed only because he was too weary to continue the fight. He felt the needle in his arm and the flood of the drug a few minutes later. He couldn't fight sleep much longer and let himself slip back under.

He slept for most of the following day and night. His fever held, but the injury didn't look infected. He woke with morning light behind the curtains and his head throbbed. The chair at his bedside was vacant for the first time in nearly two days. He slowly pushed himself up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The room spun, but after a few moments everything mostly went back to where it should be.

With his arms braced on the edge of the bed, he pushed himself to his feet. The intravenous line pulled at his hand and he tugged the needle out. He held onto the bedpost until he was sure that he wouldn't fall over. The walk to the door made him dizzy and nauseous, but he ignored that.

He made it out into the hall before he was discovered. Bruce found him leaning heavily on the banister at the top of the stairs. Dick's face was pale with a twinge of green and his breath was in short, painful gasps.

"Where are you going?" Bruce asked the question as one would ask about the weather.

Dick turned and leaned against the wall for support. "Home."

"Did Leslie clear you?"

Dick looked intently at the floor. "Not exactly, but I'm feeling much better."

"You look it." The sarcasm was impossible to miss.

"I just don't want to be any trouble."

Bruce knew he should say something along the lines of 'you could never be trouble' or something equally comforting, but it didn't seem to be the sort of thing that Dick expected from him.

"Sit down before you fall down." Bruce compensated by making the command as suggestive as possible.

Dick slid down the wall to the floor like he had no other choice. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes to the spinning and shifting around him.

Leslie came out into the hall. "Bruce have you seen, oh." She then saw Dick sitting on the floor. "I was wondering where you went."

Dick opened his eyes and tried to smile. "Thought I'd go home."

"The only place that you'll go is either back to bed or to the hospital. You shouldn't have been up at all."

Dick glanced up at Bruce, perhaps for help in defending himself against Leslie. For a moment, Dick thought he saw a slight smile.

"Bruce, either help me get him back to bed or please move out of my way."

Leslie and Bruce helped Dick to his feet and guided him back to his room. Dick sat heavily on the edge of his bed and tried not to pass out. Leslie reinserted the line into his hand and taped it down.

Dick had to admit to himself that the walk up and down the hall was about as far as he was able to go. He couldn't get rid of the dizziness. He moved back onto the pillows and closed his eyes. Leslie went about checking his temperature and blood pressure.

"How's it look?" He asked with his eyes closed.

"Still have a fever, no change there. I'd expect you to remain in this bed until that goes down. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am." Dick knew better than to cross Leslie when her eyes burned angrily like that.

Bruce stood by the door, out of the way if Leslie should desire another target.

She turned and passed Bruce in the doorway. "Make sure he stays there."

"Yes, ma'am." Bruce walked into the room and sat in the chair.

For a moment Dick and Bruce exchanged a knowing glance and repressed smirk. Dick suddenly dissolved into a coughing fit. His breath was shallow and fast in an attempt to lessen the pain. Finally he sunk into the pillows, his pallor more obvious in contrast to his flushed cheeks from the fever.

Bruce handed him the glass of water and he took a few sips. He returned the glass to the table and closed his eyes. Dick fell asleep without trying, from the exhaustion of trying to do more than he was able.


	4. Return

I don't own Nightwing, Batman or any other characters. There's no point suing me because I'm a college student over my head in student loans. This is my first Nightwing fanfic…so sorry if it isn't up to the standards that the brilliant people at DC have created.

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Dick continued to slowly improve over the next few days. His mind was still clouded with morphine, but he was awake more. His temperature returned to a few degrees above normal and he grew restless.

When he was left alone, he would walk slow laps around the room. He pushed himself hard to recover and was exhausted at the end of every day. Nearly a week after the shooting, he made another attempt to escape and return home.

Alfred came into the room as Dick stood by the side of the bed. He pulled on his sweatshirt and winced as he moved his shoulder.

"Going somewhere?"

Dick turned and hoped he didn't blush. "Time to go home."

"Were you cleared by doctor Thompkins?"

"She said to take things slow, and I will. At home." He held onto the bedpost as he stepped into his shoes. "Thanks for everything."

"It was good to have you back here." Alfred smiled. "Would you like me to drive you to your place?"

Dick lowered himself to the edge of the bed as he still tired easily and movement made him dizzy. "If you feel so inclined."

Alfred helped Dick out to the car. Dick struggled to stay awake as he was driven back to his apartment. Alfred insisted on escorting Dick to his apartment and making sure he was settled. Alfred made him toast and soup and insisted that Dick eat most of it. He did as he was asked. Dick didn't mind and allowed himself to be settled into bed and a glass of water brought in for him.

"If you need anything, master Richard, don't hesitate to call." Alfred rested his hand on Dick's shoulder.

"Sure." He leaned back against his pillows.

Alfred left the apartment only after making sure that Dick had fallen asleep. On the way back to Wayne manor, Alfred called Barbara Gordon and asked her to look in on Dick in a few hours.

Dick woke suddenly and felt the pain sharpen in his shoulder. The last dose of morphine was wearing off and he realized just how much it did. A knock on his front door disrupted his attempts to fall back asleep despite the pain. He sighed and slowly pushed himself to his feet.

Just as he got to the door, all seven locks were picked and the door swung open as far as the chain would allow.

"Damn." Barbara whispered from outside the door. "Dick?"

"I would have let you in if you had waited a few minutes." Dick feigned annoyance as he opened the door.

Barbara leaned on the doorframe. "Alfred told me to check up on you."

"I don't need anyone to look in on me." He sank into a chair.

Barbara went into the kitchen and poured a glass of water for Dick. She set it on the table next to him.

"What do you need?"

He kept his eyes closed. "Nothing."

"At least go back to bed. You look like crap."

"Thanks." He stood.

Barbara saw him waver and almost fall. She grabbed his arm as he nearly passed out. She gently pulled him to his room and helped him into bed. The pain in his shoulder doubled and it made his stomach turn. She noticed what little color he had leave his face.

"Dick?"

He closed his eyes and rested a hand over his stomach. Barbara pulled a trashcan over and left to get the glass of water from the living room. Dick hadn't moved when she came back, and she didn't expect him to.

She brushed his hair back from his face. "Do you need anything?"

"I'm just going to get some sleep." He muttered.

She pulled the blankets up and slipped out of the room. She closed the door some, but not fully. She went into the living room and pulled a book down from the shelf. She curled up in a chair and started to read.

When Dick woke, the room was dim with the oncoming evening. The pain in his shoulder returned to almost as sharp as when it first happened. The morphine was completely gone and he wanted anything to make the pain stop. He wasn't strong enough to deal with it in his current state. The room spun and his stomach clenched.

Slowly he pushed himself up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He paused for a few moments before he tried to move any further. He stood, stumbled against the wall on his way out of the room and staggered down the hall.

The bathroom light blinded him when he first turned it on. It started a pounding in his head to match the searing throb in his shoulder. He stumbled and dove for the toilet. He vomited the water he drank and the lunch Alfred prepared for him. The pain in his shoulder blinded him and the muscles in his stomach strained.

A cool hand rested on his sweat-soaked forehead and the other gently rubbed his back as he coughed and heaved. He slid to the floor and rested his face against the cool tile.

"Leslie called and said she'd be here in a few minutes." Barbara ran her fingers through Dick's hair, something that he loved.

"I'm all right." His voice broke from the pain.

"Sure, you are." There wasn't a trace of sarcasm.

She folded a towel under his head to make him a little more comfortable. He longed for sleep, but knew the pain was too sharp to allow the sweet relief.

"What do you need me to do?" She kept her voice low.

Dick opened his eyes slightly and tried to bring her into focus. "Don't know." He winced as the pain sharpened again.

His face was pale and sweat soaked his hair. He shook from the pain and the sickness it caused. Barbara could see the lines of pain around his tightly closed eyes and could do nothing more than sit at his side and feel his fingers tight around her own.

Leslie's knock at the door broke the painful minutes. Barbara stood and left Dick alone for a few seconds.

When Barbara and Leslie came into the bathroom, Dick had pushed himself up against the wall. His face was ashen and blood had soaked through the bandage. He took slow, shallow breaths to try and keep the pain under control.

Leslie knelt at Dick's side. "You left before I could officially clear you."

Dick opened his eyes a little and tried to smile. "Made it home, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you did that." She sighed. "I'm going to give you something for the pain and then check your shoulder."

She dumped a pill from a prescription bottle into her hand as Barbara poured a glass of water from the sink. Leslie placed the pill in Dick's shaking hand and handed him the water. He took it without question, he would have taken anything.

"It won't be as effective as the morphine, but I don't want to give you any more morphine if we can help it. I don't want you to end up dependant on the stuff."

She carefully removed the gauze and looked at the bullet wound. It had opened a little and Dick flinched as she cleaned the blood away. She cleaned it carefully and bandaged it.

"How's it look?" His words slurred a little.

"About like it feels I expect." She took his temperature. "You should get back to bed."

Barbara and Leslie helped Dick to his feet and guided him back to bed. The pain medication had yet to kick in and the movement added to the dizziness he already experienced. He sunk into the pillows and closed his eyes. His breath was tight in his lungs from the movement.

Leslie rested her hand on Barbara's shoulder. "Will you be staying with him for a bit?"

"Yeah." She looked over at him.

"Don't let him out of bed. I'll be over before noon tomorrow. Call if anything changes." She handed Barbara the pill bottle. "Give him one every four hours."

Leslie packed up her bag and left the room. Barbara pulled a chair over and sat at Dick's bedside. She brushed his hair off his face and watched him sleep.


	5. Recovery

I don't own Nightwing, Batman or any other characters. There's no point suing me because I'm a college student over my head in student loans. This is my first Nightwing fanfic…so sorry if it isn't up to the standards that the brilliant people at DC have created.

Barbara woke him every four hours as instructed. She forced the pills into him and a bit of toast if she could manage it before he fell back asleep. The pain wore him out as well as the side affects of the pills. He never really slept because the pain never really eased up enough for him to sleep. He was stuck in limbo just under consciousness. 

He woke long enough to realize he was actually awake two days after he escaped home. Barbara sat at his side halfway through a book. He shifted and pushed the blanket back some.

She looked up and smiled. "Welcome back."

"How long was I out for?" He pushed himself up a little and winced.

"Easy." She rested a hand on his leg. "Two days. Are you hungry?"

He shook his head and sighed. Barbara prepared another dose of pain medication and handed it to him with a glass of water. He took the pill and drank most of the water. He slowly sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

Barbara stood. "Where are you going?"

"Don't know, just up." He stood and wavered on his feet.

She took his arm to steady him. "Leslie said you shouldn't be up."

"She doesn't need to know." He muttered.

"Don't I?" 

Dick looked up and saw Leslie standing in the doorway. Her arms were folded across her chest and her gaze stern. He squared his shoulders the best he could and held her icy gaze.

She came into the room. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine."

"Where are you going?"

He shrugged a little. "Time to get up and get back to work."

"You still need time to recover, Dick." She sighed at his determined gaze, still slightly blurred by the pain pills. "At least let me check you over."

Dick let Barbara help him back to his bed. Leslie checked his blood pressure, heart rate, temperature and the bullet wound. She leaned back in the chair and looked at him with a calculating gaze.

"Well?" He was tiring, but wouldn't let it show.

"You're body temperature is still slightly elevated. The bullet wound looks good, considering and your blood pressure is still a little low from the blood loss." She held his gaze. "Dick, you still have a few broken ribs and a bruised lung. You need to rest for that to heal, you can't work through those injuries."

"I've had broken ribs before." He slumped a little.

She almost smiled. "I know, but I'm still concerned with your lung in addition to the ribs. Too much strenuous activity could further injure it."

Dick nodded, he knew she was right.

"I'll lift the strict bed rest order and replace it with an order to take it easy for the next week. No working out, only walking short distances, that's all. Do you understand?"

"Yeah." He rested his elbows on his knees.

"Stay in bed the rest of today and I'll see you early tomorrow." Her glare softened some.

Dick nodded slowly. "I can handle that." 

Leslie stood and turned to Barbara. "Make sure he rests."

She smiled. "I will."

Leslie left the room. Barbara turned to Dick. He slid back against his pillows and closed his eyes.

"Tired?"

He shrugged. "Don't know why." He opened his eyes and smiled a little.

Dick never did follow doctors orders well. After the third day free of bed rest, he was ready to get out of his apartment. Barbara kept a close eye on him, which inhibited his opportunities to start working out again.

She stepped out to get some groceries. As soon as she was gone, Dick pulled on a pair of jeans and climbed up to the roof. 

The damp, cool air flushed the last remaining drug haze from his mind. He took a few deep breaths and regretted it as his ribs strained. He preformed a few simple stretches and managed to do a quarter of his daily two hundred pushups. 

"If Leslie knew about this, she'd push you off the building."

Dick turned and saw Barbara in the doorway of the stairs. "Then don't tell her."

"You feel okay to be up?"

He shrugged. "Can't get better if you don't work at it." He walked over to a horizontal bar and did a few chin ups that looked painful. "Thinking of going out on patrol tonight." He glanced over his shoulder.

Barbara's expression changed in anger like Dick expected it to. "You need more time. You're not as fit as you want to be."

"I know that." He took the passive position. "I'll be careful. It's just to get an idea of what's going on down there. I've been out of the loop for nearly two weeks, a lot can change. I just need to get the lay of the land again." He walked over to her. "Okay?"

"I won't save your ass." She smirked anyway.

Dick smiled. "Well, I won't expect you to."

"You're hopeless." She sighed.

"Just don't tell Leslie." He returned to his pull-ups on the bar.

He continued his regime knowing that Barbara was watching his every move for a sign of pain or weakness. 


	6. Back to the Streets

I don't own Nightwing, Batman or any other characters. There's no point suing me because I'm a college student over my head in student loans. This is my first Nightwing fanfic…so sorry if it isn't up to the standards that the brilliant people at DC have created.

Dick was dressed in his Nightwing suit as soon as it was dark. It felt good to pull on the gloves and boots again, to have the mask obscuring his features. The thing that felt the best was moving from rooftop to rooftop, to feel the wind rush though his hair and past his body. The pain was still present, but nearly forgotten in the adrenaline rush of getting back to his purpose in life, getting back to protecting the streets.

He moved in and out of shadows as he looked for danger, trouble, dark dealings on the streets below. It was a quiet night, quiet for Bludhaven. Dick was grateful for the ease back into the work. His ribs protested at movements that he never would have thought twice about before. He didn't quite have his edge back.

Movement in an ally below him drew his attention away from the cool night air. He focused his attention to the three dark figures.

"…Johnny said to meet him here with the goods." He sounded young, barely sixteen.

"He's twenty minutes late. Let's blow." He was tall and anywhere between twenty and thirty.

The third member was muscular, the obvious leader. "If we don't show when he expects us to, then we're going to end up in the river."

"I'm not waiting, got better things to do." The tall one stepped towards the leader. "Wanna stop me?"

"It's your funeral, see you at the river." The leader lit a cigarette, too cool to get into a fight.

The tall one shrugged and left the group. The leader looked over at the kid and rubbed his head in a brotherly fashion. 

The click of a clip in a gun caused Dick to turn slowly. Joseph held a gun, but not aimed at Dick.

"I'm not after you." Joseph said quietly. "Not tonight."

"Well, I appreciate that." Dick wasn't about to trust him.

"Where've you been?" Joseph moved to the edge of the roof and looked down at the two in the ally.

Dick was piecing everything together. "Took some time off."

Joseph aimed his gun down at the men below.

"Who are they?" Dick looked from Joseph to the men.

"Just some history that needs to be taken care of."

Suddenly Dick remembered, the leader down in the ally, why his voice sounded familiar. The same man that killed Joseph's brother. 

"You don't want to do this." Dick said, anything to diffuse the situation.

"I'll shoot you as easy as I'll shoot them."

"Take another look. One's just a kid, barely sixteen. Same age as Daniel."

Joseph turned the gun on Dick. "Don't you dare say his name."

"You gonna make that kid watch his brother die?"

Something flickered in Joseph's eyes for a moment. He lowered the gun a fraction of an inch before his eyes hardened again. 

"I'll do 'em both in." His voice wavered a little, trying to be tougher than he was.

"You couldn't kill that kid. We both know that." Dick took a breath. "Listen, wait for a few minutes, see what they're waiting for. Maybe this will work out of the both of us."

Joseph looked at Dick as though he could see truth if he looked long enough. He extended his hand. "I'll give you one half hour."

Dick shook. "Deal."

"After that I shoot."

"Then you know what I'll be doing." Dick shrugged.

Both men perched on the edge of the roof to watch and wait. The two men in the ally below were waiting and watching, but for different reasons. 

A black car pulled up and Dick pushed himself up a little. That was Johnny O'Neil's car, one of the biggest dealers on the street. The guy had connections a mile long, connections that could get a guy killed with one phone call. For Johnny to be in that ally, the two men must have had something that he really wanted.

"Johnny O'Neil?" Joseph whispered.

"Yeah. You've been doing your homework."

Johnny got out of the car along with two of his bodyguards. Dick knew the five to one odds were not in his favor given his current physical state. Even if Joseph got a few good hits in, Dick couldn't trust the guy. Joseph worked for himself. 

The leader pulled a briefcase from behind a dumpster. He placed it in his brother's arms and flipped open the case. In the dark, Dick couldn't see the contents, but he had a few guesses that he knew were right.

Joseph shifted and prepared to get his vengeance. 

"Wait." Dick whispered.

Joseph turned and punched him. "Deal's off." He jumped onto the fire escape as Dick tried to recover.

Joseph opened fire as soon as he landed on the pavement. A gunfight between Johnny, his bodyguards and the leader broke out. The sound of the guns echoed off the walls of the nearby buildings. Dick swung down into a shadow as he tried to figure out a plan of attack. 

As soon as it started, it was over. Johnny jumped into his car, one bodyguard was dead in the street. Left behind as Johnny's driver peeled out of the ally. The leader was dead, a pool of blood under him. Joseph sat half propped against the wall, blood down his shirt front. The drug dealer's little brother, the sixteen year old kid, sat a few feet away from his brother and watched the blood spread across the ground.

Joseph grabbed Dick's leg as he walked by. "Is, is the kid…all right?"

"He wasn't shot." Dick looked over at the kid.

Blood bubbled from Joseph's mouth. "Guess we shoulda been a team."

"You and me were never cut out for teamwork, not really."

"Least I'll get to see Daniel." He whispered and died.

Dick walked over to the kid sitting next to his brother. "You all right?"

The kid looked up, shock and anger spilled from his eyes. "Nobody gets my brother like that and lives."

"The guy who shot your brother is dead." 

"Then I'll get Johnny. He said nothing would go wrong, he said if things went to shit he'd protect us." He took a breath and looked back at his brother. "As far as I'm concerned, Johnny killed him."

The kid stood and ran from the ally before Dick could say anything else. He'd see that kid again, just another Joseph Fyllen hurt and angry seeking revenge on the streets. That's what they all were. 

Dick stood and walked away from the street, from the blood and the bodies. He climbed back up to a roof and returned to the city he tried to protect. As he pulled himself over the ledge, a dark figure was there to greet him.

"Johnny said you were back."

Dick froze. The figure stepped into the light. Adrian Boanes was normal until he took an experimental treatment as a last resort to cure a brain tumor. The drugs got rid of the tumor and warped him into Kamkazie, his street name. Crazy, brilliant and never someone to run into on a dark rooftop. Even Johnny, with all his connections and power, respected and revered Kamkazie.

Both men stood looking at each other, trying to figure the next move. 

"He said you messed up his business deal. Thing is, he was working for me, so you messed up my business deal." He smiled. "I don't like people messing with my business."

"The drugs are still in the street." Dick cautiously said. "Nobody messed with them."

Kamkazie pulled a gun, shot Dick from two feet away and holstered his gun with speed that few had. Superman would have even missed it.

Dick crumpled, his hands over his stomach and fell to his knees. 

Kamkazie smiled crazier that before and stepped over Dick. "Nobody messes with my business." He walked off the roof like someone determined to jump.

Dick felt his blood pour over his hands. He leaned forward and rested his forehead on the rooftop. He knew he should call someone, anyone for help, but all he could do at that moment was keep breathing. 

He heard footsteps and sat up, determined not to be caught off guard. The last thing he remembered was the swish of a black cape and a hand on his shoulder. 


	7. Luck and Chance

I don't own Supernatural or anything that has to deal with it

I don't own Nightwing, Batman or any other characters. There's no point suing me because I'm a college student over my head in student loans. This is my first Nightwing fanfic…so sorry if it isn't up to the standards that the brilliant people at DC have created. Thanks for all the reviews.

"…he's strong, he'll be okay…"

"…lost a lot of blood…"

"…wasn't ready to be back out there…"

"…never was good at following orders…"

"…blood pressure's dropping, hold that gauze down…"

Dick felt a sharp pain around his middle and couldn't open his eyes. Everything around him was dark and cold. Voices filtered in over the pounding of his heart in his ears, but he couldn't make out the words much less who spoke them. The pain sharpened again, he knew he was going to die and then there was nothing.

The next thing he knew was that it must be day. He could see the bright light even through his closed eyelids. He is then aware of the pain barely held in check by the drugs that blur and cloud him. He doesn't want the drugs, but knows that the pain will rip him apart without them. He tries to open his eyes, but it's too much work, he's not strong enough even for that small movement. 

_Okay, Dick, you can't rely on sight now. You don't know where you are, but you can figure that out._ His thoughts are slow and simple from the drugs and pain. _Listen, just listen._ He picks up a rhythmic beeping. _Bomb, alarm clock, forklift? Forklift, that's a good one. Heart monitor? Hospital. Shit._

Then there was nothing again, just the silent darkness of unconsciousness, like being miles under the ocean, the crushing dark depths of sleep.

"…Dick?...Dick?..."

He struggled to consciousness, a fight he didn't think he was strong enough for. He managed to open his eyes a little. The daylight pierced his brain and triggered a monster of a headache to match the pain round his middle. He groaned in spite of himself.

"I think he's waking up."

"He's been out for days."

"Vitals are stronger, still low, but stronger."

The first person he saw was Leslie as she leaned over to check the pain medication flowing into his veins. "So, you decided to return to us."

"Return?" He couldn't speak above a slurred whisper.

"Tried to cut out on us." Bruce said calmly.

Dick painfully turned to him; of course he was standing in front of the window, silhouetted. The light that poured in from outside was like a dagger in his brain.

The blinds were closed and Alfred stood next to the window, the string for the blinds in his hand. The pain in Dick's head lessened some and he took a slow breath.

He blinked slowly. "How long?"

"Three days." Bruce answered as he sat in a chair at the bedside.

"Hospital?" He sighed.

"This time, yeah." 

Dick's blurry mind slowly put the pieces together. The rooftop, the footsteps, the black cape. "You had my back."

Bruce smiled a little. "Always. Barbara called me after you left for patrol."

Dick nodded slightly.

Leslie took Dick's temperature and checked his pulse. "He needs to rest." She looked up at Bruce and Alfred. "You can stay, but keep it quiet."

Dick drifted back into the darkness of sleep. 

When Dick woke again, another entire day had passed. The room was empty around him, though Bruce and Alfred's jackets were draped over the arm of a chair. He shifted under the blanket and regretted it as pain tore through his middle. That was when he remembered the shot, Kamkazie's shot.

Leslie came into the room with another bag of medication to replace the nearly empty one that hung above Dick's head. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I was shot." He smiled a little.

"Seems to be a recent trend."

"I hope not." He sighed.

She changed the medication and checked his vitals. "How's the pain?"

"It's there."

"The bullet entered, tore through your diaphragm and nicked your liver where it then lodged itself near your spine. You're lucky to be alive and walking."

He pushed himself up on the pillows a little and winced. "Luck's my middle name."

"You're middle name's John." Bruce said with a smirk as he came into the room with a cup of coffee in his hand.

"Then I'll change it." He smiled.

"Might be something to consider." He sat down in the bedside chair. "How are you feeling?"

"Better." He paused, looked away from Bruce's blue x-ray gaze. "Thanks, for…you know, saving me."

Bruce shrugged and let the moment fade into the silence that he and Dick were accustomed to. 

Dick was tiring from the few moments awake and fighting the pain. Leslie saw the pain flash in his eyes as he took a breath and increased the drip on his medication. 

Bruce saw it as well. "Get some rest. I'm glad you're all right."

Dick nodded and let his eyes slip closed again.

"I was thinking." Dick muttered with his eyes still closed. "Instead of changing my middle name to Luck, maybe it should be Chance."

Bruce smiled a little as Dick's breathing evened out in sleep. He and Alfred stayed by his side. Barbara came into the room not long after Dick fell back asleep. She looked from his still form to Bruce who nodded slightly to her. Alfred stood to give her his chair. The three of them watched Dick sleep and knew that this injury could have been his last. 

"Second chances." Bruce muttered with a crooked half smile.

Alfred turned to him. "What was that, Master Bruce?"

Bruce shook his head. "Nothing." He turned his attention back to Dick with a slight smile. "He's going to be fine."

**Thirteen Years Previous.**

Dick was dressed in a new black suit. His usually unkempt hair was slicked and combed down. Bruce stood behind the boy with a hand rested on the small shoulder. Alfred stood a few feet away. 

Dick looked down at the two caskets that held his parents, he burned the names on their headstone into his mind. The priest said some words that Dick wasn't paying attention to. All he knew was the cold marble in front of him and the strong hand on his shoulder grounding him, everything else spun away.

"Come on, Dick." Bruce's voice was quiet.

Dick looked up and saw that the service was over. He allowed himself to be steered away from the graveside. Halfway back to the car, Dick stopped and turned back. The tears that he had been fighting since that night at the circus suddenly filled, but didn't fall from his eyes. 

Bruce knelt in front of the boy and held his shoulders. "We're given chances and second chances, Dick. They may not always come in the way we want, but we have to take them."

Dick didn't meet Bruce's eyes. They boy was looking over Bruce's shoulder at his parents graves.

"Dick." Bruce gently cupped the boy's chin in his hand and turned Dick's face to meet his eyes. "This is a second chance, one that I'm truly sorry came. We have to go on because we are given the opportunity to. Do you understand?" Dick nodded slightly and took a breath. "I was given a second chance, too."

"I know." Dick whispered.

"Then we'll do this together. I'll always have your back, always."

Dick's jaw was set in an effort to quell the tears.

"It's going to be all right."

One tear fell down his cheek. Dick suddenly took a step forward and wrapped his arms around Bruce's shoulders. Bruce stood and carried Dick to the car. 


End file.
